


times are changing (and I am too)

by t_hens



Series: reddie [4]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, Introspection, M/M, Mentions of Anxiety, Pining, eddie getting the happy ending he deserves, time stamps, using 'fuck you' as a love language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 18:48:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21432982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_hens/pseuds/t_hens
Summary: Eddie through the years
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: reddie [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534337
Comments: 4
Kudos: 180





	times are changing (and I am too)

**Author's Note:**

> just something I had floating around my brain. 
> 
> a giant thanks to moody for beta'ing <3 ty ly bb

Eddie is eleven. 

He’s just been to the doctor and in his hand is a shiny red inhaler. He’d told his mom that he’d been feeling a tightness in his chest; a suffocating bubble of chaos burrowed in his rib cage that never seemed to go away. He sees the way her eyes widen when he says the word ‘anxiety’ and it makes shame worm it’s way into Eddie’s brain.

She makes him an appointment for the next morning, the first one they had available, and tells the receptionist she’s concerned about asthma. When the doctor asks if he’s been feeling short of breath, he answers yes, even though he hasn’t really. Asthma is a much easier diagnosis to swallow than anxiety.

The doctor listens to his lungs and has him take a few deep breaths before reaching into a drawer and holding out an inhaler like it’ll solve all of Eddie’s problems.

Eddie hasn’t let it go since.

-

Eddie is twelve.

He’s twelve and hasn’t gone through a growth spurt yet, so when he smacks Richie upside the head, he has to jump because all Richie has done this summer—aside from run his mouth—is grow.

Richie looms over Eddie, giggling when he takes another leap towards the top of his stupid, curly, head. 

“Oh c’mon Eds. You aren’t really mad at me,” he taunts, digging his fingers in Eddie’s ribs when his feet land on the ground again.

Eddie settles for kicking him in the shin. He howls like he’s been shot and Eddie feels sorry for half a second before he remembers the lewd drawing Richie had left in his room, apparently depicting Richie ‘dicking down’ his mom, which she had found and Eddie had to talk his way out of being grounded.

The reminder makes the fire in his chest burn brighter, so Eddie tackles him to the ground of the field they are standing in because Stan wanted to look for a certain type of bird that lives in tall grass. Distantly he can hear the sound of the other losers complaining about the two of them acting like children, but Eddie doesn't care.

This is between him and Richie anyway.

-

Eddie is thirteen now.

The cast on his arm has a permanent sort of funky smell from being in the sewers for hours when they tried to kill that stupid fucking clown. He’d told his mom he’d been sprayed by a skunk and instead of realizing how shit of a liar Eddie is, she called the doctor's office and asked if there was some sort of immunization he needed now.

The smell isn’t so bad when he’s outside, so Eddie does his best to not come home before it’s absolutely necessary. Which is why he’s on his bike and pedaling fast towards the bridge so he can do this stupid thing he’s been thinking about for entirely too long. 

It’s still bright enough for him to see the various carvings on the Kissing Bridge, but dim enough someone might not immediately recognize him if he was caught.

He hunches down and starts carving a small ‘R’ into the old wood the best he can with an old, dried up pen. It’s not to far away from the simple ‘R+E’ carving that had started this whole stupid idea of Eddie’s.

Wistfully he thinks of those initials standing for ‘Richie and Eddie’ but he knows better. Richie’s been talking about fucking girls, Eddie’s mother especially, since before any of them had even hit puberty.

Besides, Richie’s handwriting isn’t that neat.

-

Eddie is seventeen and his heart is breaking.

He’s stood in Richie’s driveway, watching as the last few boxes are loaded into the U-Haul and the keys to the house are handed over to the smug looking realtor. 

She’s wearing a blazer that _obviously_ has shoulder pads in it and she smells like she recently got a perm.

Eddie hates her.

Richie’s solemn face peeks from behind the truck as the door is slammed shut. The noise makes Eddie jump. When Richie reaches him, he wraps his arms around Eddie so tightly he almost can’t breathe.

(But maybe that would be a better alternative than watching his best friend and the secret love of his short life driving away to fucking Arizona of all places).

“I’m gonna miss you,” Richie tells him, breathed into the shell of Eddie’s ear. It makes him shiver a little and he’s kind of glad his face is tucked into Richie’s chest, because he’s certain he’s about to start crying.

“I’ll miss you too.”

(He’d said goodbye to everyone else the day before. It was a subdued event that was mostly filled with sad silences and the lewdest jokes Richie could come up with. No one yelled at him to stop or shut up because they all knew it was his way of making sure he wasn’t vulnerable).

When the hug is broken, Richie leans back and stares at Eddie’s face seriously. His forehead is furrowed, like he’s trying to figure out a difficult math problem, and Eddie opens his mouth to tell him to stop thinking so hard, he’s going to hurt himself.

He doesn’t get a chance though, because Richie presses their lips together in what can barely be considered a kiss, even though it still makes Eddie’s breath catch in his throat and his heart thud painfully in his chest.

Before he can really process what’s happening, let alone reciprocate, Richie is pulling away and walking to his sister’s car and slamming the door.

Eddie can still feel the pressure on his lips as he falls asleep that night.

-

Eddie is forty.

His phone is still in his hand as he gets out of his just crashed car. There are people swarming him - some asking if he’s okay (probably tourists) and some people screaming at him for holding up traffic (New Yorkers).

Mike’s phone call had came out of nowhere, and with it all the memories Eddie hadn’t realized he’d forgotten. 

The Quarry, the Barrens, a little underground clubhouse with a hammock for one that always held two. A gentle hand on his leg that was resolutely **not discussed** as he and a gangly boy with coke-bottle glasses laid crammed together.

The Losers: Bill, Mike, Ben and Bev and Stan. 

Richie.

Eddie’s booking the next flight to Maine without thinking twice, bracing himself to call and tell Myra that he won't be home for dinner. 

-

Eddie is still forty, but feels like he’s about ninety.

There is a crick in his neck from the airplane and there’s still a bandage on his face from that goddamn Henry Bowers and that stupid fucking knife.

Mostly though, he’s nervous.

He’s stood on Richie’s front porch, the same bags he’d brought to Derry at his feet. He’s been debating ringing the doorbell for about ten minutes when the door opens, revealing Richie.

He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt over what is probably a sleep shirt from the 70’s and basketball shorts. His hair is a mess and his glasses are lopsided and Eddie wants to kiss him so fucking bad.

So he does.

Richie’s starting to say something, probably some dumb joke about Eddie not getting enough of him in Derry, and Eddie is surging forward, standing on tippy toes to wrap his arms around Richie’s neck and kiss him like his life depends on it.

It takes a second for Richie to catch up, but when he does, his enthusiasm is doubled and he’s actually _lifting_ Eddie up and carrying him to the couch, Eddie’s bags temporarily forgotten.

They kiss and kiss until both of them heaving breaths and Eddie kinda wishes he had his inhaler even though he knows he doesn’t really have asthma. Something to ground him since he feels like he’s flying.

“This was an unexpected surprise,” Richie murmurs into his ear as they lay tangled on the couch, trying to get their breath back.

“I just couldn’t go back,” Eddie tells him, running his fingers through Richie’s mop of wild curls, scratching at his scalp gently. Richie purrs like a cat and fondness wells up in Eddie’s throat like it’s gonna choke him. 

“To New York?” Richie asks. 

(He’s been surprisingly un-Richie-ish, not even making a joke about fucking Eddie’s mom. To be fair though, he always knew when to cut the shit. Eddie’s thankful for that, not sure if he’d be able to make this speech again).

“Kinda. It was mostly just like, _my life._ I feel like I’ve been sleeping for twenty-seven years and now that I’m awake, I don’t want to go to sleep again.”

Richie hums understandingly, tightening the arm around Eddie’s waist. “I got to the airport in New York and it was like I couldn’t fucking breathe. I thought about going back to the apartment and dealing with Myra fussing over me and I almost puked.” 

He pauses, waiting for the perfunctory ‘you married your mom’ bit, but Richie stays quiet so he continues.

“I got the first flight to LAX. I called my lawyer from the departure gate and called Myra and told her I wasn’t coming home.”

He can hear the sharp breath that Richie takes and turns to face him where he’s still burrowed into Eddie’s neck.

“So you just got on a plane to come to LA?” He finally makes eye contact with Eddie and he can’t help but think that blue eyes are truly underrated.

“No,” he answers, taking a steadying breath (where was that fucking inhaler when he needed it?!?). “I got on a plane to come see you.”

“Me?” Richie asks, as if their tongues were not just in each other’s mouth twenty minutes ago.

“Yes, you, dumbass. Was me kissing you not enough proof that I’m like, stupidly in love with you?”

“I mean,” Richie starts, cheeks pink and a pleased smirk on his face. “I kind of thought maybe, but look at you,” he gestures to Eddie laying there in slacks, a polo and what he’s pretty sure is Richie’s sweater, “and look at me.”

He looks even more unkept than he had when Eddie barged into his apartment, but Eddie doesn’t care. His bad fashion choices was just one of annoyingly cute things that Eddie complained about but secretly loved.

“Do you really fucking think I like you just for your looks? You’re the most annoying person in the whole god damn world and I love you so fucking much.”

Richie’s eyes start to mist as he tucks his face back into Eddie’s neck.

“I love you too,” he says quietly. “Always have. I even carved our initials into the Kissing Bridge like some kind of rom-com loser.”

Eddie can’t help but snort. “R+E?”

Richie’s head shoots up and he gives Eddie a suspicious look. 

“I saw it when I was carving an ‘R.’ I wanted R+E to be us. I had no idea it actually was.”

Richie starts full on crying, so Eddie just pulls him in closer and whispers sweet nothings in his hair until they drift off to sleep.

Eddie’s luggage is probably gonna get stolen, but he finds he really couldn’t care less. 

He has all he needs right there.

-

Eddie is forty-one.

He’s sitting on the deck of his and Richie’s recently purchased house, watching Lola - the spunky Pomeranian they’d rescued - run around the backyard, as he sips his decaf coffee.

“There’s no point in drinking coffee if it’s decaf,” Richie tells him, sitting next to him on the porch swing.

(Richie had wanted to buy a hammock, for old times sake, and Eddie had said no. They were middle aged and probably wouldn’t even fit in a hammock together. Also, he’s pretty sure it would turn into a sex thing, knowing Richie—and to be fair, knowing himself—and he was trying to keep at least some of the memories of his childhood innocent).

“It’s not like I make you fucking drink it,” Eddie snarks, taking a sip of the bitter liquid. 

“Yeah, because you know I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed, therefore wouldn’t be able to dick you dow-.”

He’s cut off by Eddie’s elbow in his ribs. “Do you have even like, an _ounce_ of tact in that stupid gumby body of yours? Christ’s sake.”

Richie just chuckles, taking a sip of the heavily creamed and sugared coffee in his hands. There is a small _clink,_ as the simple silver band on his ring finger hits the ceramic mug. 

It’s quickly became Eddie’s favorite sound.

A matching band is on Eddie’s finger that hasn’t been taken off since Richie slid it on at a small, Losers only, ceremony in their backyard.

Lola brings back the ball she’s been chasing around and Eddie watches as Richie start rough housing with her. Eddie scolds him for riling her up before they have to kennel her for the day while they are at work, but he doesn’t really mean it. 

The two of them play for a handful of minutes until Richie gets up and drags Eddie by the hand and into the house, trying to talk Eddie into a quickie in the shower before work. 

Eddie rolls his eyes and tells him no as he’s pulling his shirt off to throw at Richie’s head, making his way into their ensuite bathroom.

Forty-one is his favorite age.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find this fic on [tumblr](https://tobieallison.tumblr.com/post/189063393401/times-are-changing-and-i-am-too-reddie)


End file.
